


Supply Drop

by WolfVenom



Series: R6S Drabbles [2]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Bigotry & Prejudice, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Military Training, Muteness, Protectiveness, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: They were family. They held guns where a mother might hold her newborn, they tossed grenades like an uncle would toss a ball with his neice, they bled from gunshots and stabbings where a child might bleed from scraped knees.Family looked out for family.





	Supply Drop

**Author's Note:**

> Mute-centric puff piece to worship my lovely little possum-fingered boy. Bless.

Sledge enjoyed his days most when training the recruits out in Hereford’s plainest countrysides. The little buggers whined and sniffed and all but dragged their feet until he or one of his squadron threatened them with a real bad time. Which usually resulted in Smoke planting decoy toxins along their obstacle course and blowing them up in an orderly fashion to watch the rookies run and shriek at the looming presence of harmless lemony ochre dust.

 

Because Thatcher was ‘too old for it’, Mute ‘too busy for it’, and Sledge ‘too lazy for it’. Smoke was the man on a mission which just so happened to be ‘count how many of the infantry's briefs were soiled in the laundry’ after his schemes. Sledge wouldn’t  _ deny  _ the giddiness his pranks caused, but he wouldn’t necessarily admit to giggling, either. Recruits were the only buggers Smoke could actually fool in Rainbow.

 

To his six he listened to the call of one of the officers on-deck, barking at Smoke as he dallied away and ushering the march to continue. The man was brisk and built, not up to Montagne’s standards but not slim like Jackal, and he wore his beret like a bloody champ, as if once it came off he’d be a deadbeat dad with no lingering respect.

 

The officer, hands clasped, made his way over to Sledge as the Scotsman sorted the reds and blacks of a deck of cards in his lap, ensuring his team kept on course with his spare focus. His voice was thickly American and Sledge nearly cringed at the thought of Thermite acting all posh n proper like that.

 

“There was supposed to be two of you on recruits today, Cowden. Where’s Chandar?” Officer Texas-or-whatever drawled, and Sledge stuffed his deck back into his breast pocket. 

 

‘’He’s out today- not feelin’ very well, the poor bastard. I’m not the kinda man to force someone int’a workin’ when they aren’t top notch,” Sledge replied, husky from the cold morning air, “newbies are mine n’ Smoke’s fer now.” The squint of the officer’s eyes added five tallies to his score on Sledge’s shitlist. Yet another bumfuck thinking something rude they had no business in thinking of.

 

Summoning the best bitch face possible, Sledge telepathically urged the man to leave him alone, snarling once his back was turned.

 

One glance at Smoke, skipping across the muddy wires laid out on the course, and Sledge held thought and prayer to those poor poor recruits as he stood up and made his way back into the barracks. 

 

Mess was filled with the frenchies, not even excluding Buck, who gave Sledge a friendly nod as the man strolled on by, keen on making it back to the bunks before Smoke grew bored of chasing the march with a rubber horse head on instead of his mask. 

 

He was stopped before exiting the canteen by Frost, who looked out of breath and frazzled, yet undoubtedly happy. She shoved a pill and glass of juice into his hand quickly before jogging away, calling over her shoulder, “it’s for Mute!”

 

He whistled his thanks as she continued on her morning run and continued the trek to his bunk, shoving open the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

 

Below the covers on the bottom bunk was a large mass, shifting and groaning in discomfort. Sledge tutted and drawled his sympathies, setting his gift on the bedside table before crawling into the bunk and pulling the mass into his lap, ignoring the hissing.

 

“How’s my beauty, aye?” Sledge muttered, untangling the duvet from Mute’s head and rubbing soothing circles along his bony hips.

 

The man growled and glared up at him, clearly grumpy with the sudden change, but pressed his thumb to his chest and spread his fingers. Sledge hummed and nuzzled his hairline affectionately, gesturing to the juice to the side. “Frost got you something t’drink.”

 

Mute rolled his head and glared at the glass, perking up only slightly when he noticed the painkiller. He reached out with the most childish grabby hands towards the medicine and Sledge relented with a chuckle, swiping it from the table and handing it over to Mute wordlessly. 

 

He gulped it down and swallowed down the pill swiftly, emptying the cup in the blink of an eye and pawning it back off with a sigh. Once the kitchenware was off the bed, Sledge cupped Mute around the waist and gently tugged him down on the bed, effectively spooning him against the wall and running calloused and hardy palms along his belly to an appreciative groan. 

 

“That feels good, dunn’it luv? Sorry ya gotta hole up in here, must be absolute hell on ye.” Sledge cooed, ghosting both chaste and filthy breeds of kisses along Mute’s collar where he could reach. 

 

Mute grunted in response and flared under the tender ministrations like a cat, arching his back to stretch out his limbs and aching bones. With a shuffle to free his hands, Mute held open his palms, one face down and one upright, then flipped them both over repeatedly.

 

‘ _ I’m dying.’ _

 

Sledge cackled and nipped his ear playfully, “no, yer fucking not. Just sit still you big baby and let me do my thing.”

 

Mute hummed and closed his eyes to flop his head back against Sledge’s shoulder, one hand mischievously reaching back to grab a handful of Sledge’s rear in retaliation. A rough, yet positive press against his tender stomach had Mute ceasing his teasing with a groan, and he melted against Sledge’s chest, the constant throb and ache in his gut being smoothed out by the consistent rub of gentle hands.

 

“Thermite volunteered to handle the evenin’s recruits for ya, lord knows whats-his-face down at the field’ll have a worse time with ‘im than with me when it comes to ya.” Sledge said, filling the quiet space with small talk. He imagined the fury on Jordan’s face if that man said one thing crossed towards his teammates, his practical family. That bugger was famous for being a piece of shit and Jordan was not the kinda man to let his patriotism being squandered by a bad apple with the wrong values. 

 

Mute gave a low laugh and eagerly pressed back into Sledge, uncaring of grinding against Sledge’s groin or thigh, which prompted a hiss and another bite.

 

“Stop your fidgeting, you absolute bastard, I’m tryina help you, can’t do that with a bloody boner.” 

 

Another fit of muted giggles. Another shove against his crotch. Sledge huffed defeatedly and rolled over sharply, pulling Mute on top of him with a sly grin. Let’s see how he liked it being teased.

  
  


\---

  
  


It was hours later when Sledge and Mute emerged from their nest of a bunk, Mute already with a renewed pep in his step and Sledge exhausted as all hell from just entertaining the bugger. But love was a powerful and energizing thing, he’d much rather Mute happy and content than grumpy and aching. Though, he’d need to do another load of laundry; it’s the third one today, and Blitz was getting suspicious of their antics. 

 

The canteen had refreshed its populace, now barren and filled only with Dokkaebi, Thatcher, and Jackal. Mute trotted over to join in on whatever they were talking about, leaving Sledge to collect a snack from the kitchen. 

 

Dokkaebi was not as fluent in basic American sign as Thatcher and Jackal were, which left them both to tease her with translations and Mute to frustratedly whack Jackal on the head. All in good fun, of course. 

 

Until Officer Fuck-Me-Up decided to barge in. He was trailed by an exhausted line of recruits, all eager to rest and recuperate in the mess with some lunch. Thatcher immediately scowled to himself, putting his body in the way of the entrance and Mute as if engaging in heady conversation with his teammate, which the two other operators noted and filed in alongside. 

 

Sledge was content to snack on his apple and watch the scene before him, watching the recruits mull about and studying their various ticks and habits.

 

Thatcher’s voice ended up too loud, as always, with that commanding tone, and Sledge had no choice but to focus back in on their conversation idly.

 

“I heard the mission in Siberia got one of our Spetz’ in the hospital. Blew out a fuckin’ lung, can you believe it? Bullet right to the chest, glad he barely breathed anyway, the silent fucker.” Worry was masked with apprehensive beratement, Sledge knowing full damn well Thatcher practically adopted every younger soldier in Rainbow under his wing. He’d never admit to it, though. Only that he just wanted to ensure every young’un had one more day to go home to their families alive and safe. 

 

So yes, he wasn’t just limited to care of the SAS. Though, Mute was one of his favourite baby birds to fawn over in the field. It was like a little chihuahua dog flanked by three large mastiffs, jaws bared and drooling yet knowing full well the little fucker had sharp enough teeth on him. 

 

Mute listened intently to his elder, exchanging his dues and asking about the incident, “Glaz, of all of them. Ganged up while nesting, caliber right through the ribs. Fancy hearing his wheezing after this, aye.” Thatcher trilled, exchanging a glace with Jackal while Dokkaebi watched Mute’s hands intently, curious to practice her own movements. 

 

Sledge eyed the newcomers, watching the American officer take seat next to a row of other high ranking individuals and exchanging some angering words. He didn’t need to pick out each and every syllable to be spurred into grabbing one of the heavy kitchen knives from the board and sauntering over, waiting until all but the man knew he was there before plunging it right through the plastic table, swinging a leg over the bench and taking his own seat besides them.

 

“Need I remind you who outranks your asses here today, mates?” He growls, a smile on his face promising a lot more than just anger.

 

Prying the utensil from the table, he swings it in Mute’s direction and maintains eye contact with the officer’s, catching the glint of the light in the blade. 

 

“I don’t see any of ya’s with a Cambridge degree at fifteen, so you’se all better watch your fucking mouths for me, eh?” Sledge drawled, sparing the group of imbeciles a hostile wink before parting with his knife and tossing it haphazardly towards Mute, who by some insane display of trust, didn’t even need to spare a glance at the weapon to catch it by the handle and set it down on the countertop behind him. 

 

Making fun of Mute’s tardiness and regular excuses from work was one thing, but insulting his job on missions was a whole ‘nother issue entirely. The bastards just didn’t have the brain capacity to understand the sheer intelligence it took to design and imply a signal disruptor on the field like Mute could. 

 

And Sledge was still right in his threats. Even if Mute was still in his early twenties, he outranked many of the people in this very room greatly (though, probably not Doc), which prompted a swell of pride in Sledge’s chest. He spared a grin to Mute out the corner of his eye before departing to the gym, eager to work off the excess energy he gathered from the events just an hour prior. 

 

Rook was happy to lend his time helping Sledge with high kicks, holding up targets and commenting where he needed to improve his friends’ timing. A friendly spar ensued which surprisingly ended with Rook the victor, much to Sledge’s chagrin, but he was still proud that kids that young managed to exceed his best expectations in this job force. 

 

By dinner Mute was back to gruelling alone in the bunk and complaining to any eye that would lend him time, which just ended up to be Dokkaebi. Sledge read his books by the window while her and Mute lie overtop one another, one on her phone and the other whining low in his throat and waving his hands around wildly in some semblance of conversation. 

 

“I don’t know that one, hold on.” Dokkaebi would occasionally pipe up, before browsing the internet to find answers and resuming talk with Mute. The radio calmly sang in the corner and Sledge was fine lazing the evening away with the two. 

 

At nighttime, when Dokkaebi had left and Montagne popped by to remind them of tomorrow's schedule, Sledge found himself returning to Mute’s back in the bed and tracing muscle and scarring along Mute’s stomach, listening to his hushed breathing and the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he slept.

 

Sledge found it hard to follow, so enraptured with his lovers’ body and exploring curves and edges he had already mapped out months ago once again, never failing to be so enamoured with Mute in his entirety. And in the morning, Mute was right back into his thieving hugs and wanton touches, which Sledge willingly gave into. He just had to accept that he would do anything for this man, even on his worst days. 

**Author's Note:**

> pry mute away from my cold, dead, gay hands.


End file.
